


Jerry Earns a Promotion

by eastcoastlighthouse



Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Bukkake, Coercion, M/M, Office Sex, questionable business practices
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-21
Updated: 2017-10-21
Packaged: 2019-01-20 19:56:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12440487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eastcoastlighthouse/pseuds/eastcoastlighthouse
Summary: In his pre-Hungry For Apples days, Jerry is just another advertising specialist at Haas & Milan. He's not particularly great at his job; luckily his colleagues are happy enough to pick up his slack. But of course there's no such thing as a free lunch.





	Jerry Earns a Promotion

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [this wonderful fanart](https://dickmissiles2.tumblr.com/post/165357000592/jerry-coming-home-covered-in-dried-cum-honey).

How do you know you’re doing a good job at work? How do you feel like the hours you’re putting in are worthwhile? Some people pursue a career in charity or education. Others measure their worth by the size of their bank account. Others still look at their title, academic or otherwise, and clutch it close to their chest as if it would keep them warm. And then there are people who simply look to the people around them – their customers, their co-workers, their managers – and determine their self-worth by looking in the mirror these people are all too willing to hold up to them. Which of these ways are valid? Who are any of us to say?

“Off to another day of hard labor!” Jerry said, grabbing his jacket off of the back of the chair he’d unnecessarily deposited it on. “Time to bring home some bacon, sweat some blood, crack some–”

“ _Bye,_ Jerry.” Beth’s scrubs were still covered in blood from a trying night shift, and already she was shovelling scrambled eggs down her gullet to prepare herself for the 9AM shift.

Jerry shrank back, and finished in a pout: “Crack some whips. Time for… time for that. Whip-cracking.” He turned to his children – Summer’s eyes focused on her phone, Morty with a glazed-over look on his face from some nightly space exploration. “Work some fingers to their respective bones?”

When this last attempt too was met with a not particularly malicious (but all the more hurtful) brand of indifference, Jerry gave up and slinked out the door, briefcase in hand. That this briefcase had been empty for months (years, perhaps) might just have been the Smith family’s worst-kept secret.

It wasn’t as if Jerry had _never_ held an advertising job, like that French guy who had pretended to be a doctor for years only to wander around in the park every day until he snapped and murdered his family in cold blood. Compared to that, Jerry’s situation wasn’t even all that bad. He was still employed at Haas  & Milan, he still brought home a paycheck every month, and he still sat in on meetings and offered feedback and came up with ideas. That his feedback and his ideas had gone ignored for a while now didn’t really reflect badly on his position as a breadwinner, did it? He wasn’t phoning it in or anything. There were just so many guys he worked with who were more creative, more observant, more knowledgeable, more cutthroat.

He arrived at work after enduring yet another traffic jam (the same thing every morning – and just like every morning, Jerry spent the time he waited thinking about his idea of staggering the times people had to be at work in the morning, with everyone leaving their home at a designated time to avoid all this rush hour madness. Truly a million dollar idea! Maybe he should go into urban planning? Would his communications degree work for that?)

He was early, which allowed him to pull into his favorite parking spot (a good start to the day!) and he whistled a little tune as he walked into the lobby which looked all the more welcoming bathed in the morning light.

“Good morning, Linda!” he said with a jovial wave to the receptionist. Linda, for her part, looked up and offered Jerry a curl of her lip that might have been intended to be a smile.

Undeterred, Jerry continued on his way. As far as advertising agencies went, Haas & Milan was pretty stereotypical in that they tried to sell themselves more than anything else. Potential clients had to like them before they’d hire them, and as a result the building was spacious, well-decorated, and kept meticulously clean. Finally he arrived at his cubicle (glancing at the framed family picture he kept here more because that seemed to be the thing to do with a cubicle than anything else), dumped his empty briefcase on his desk with the flair of someone who considered himself quite important for no particular reason, and headed to the breakroom to fix himself a cup of coffee.

Yet another good sign: the coffee maker’s glass jug, from the looks of it, still held one cup of coffee. He grabbed a mug from the cabinet (a pink one that read _TALK TO ME WHEN THIS IS EMPTY!_ ) and, with immense satisfaction, found that the contents of the jug were just enough to fill up his mug. With a bit of guilt he peeked at the sign next to the coffee maker, which entreated him: _Don’t be a last drop bandit! Please refill!_ ) and turned around, figuring the next person would take care of it.

Immediately he just happened to bump into the next person. Nichols, a lanky hatrack of a man who ran marathons in his spare time and didn’t seem to be able to shut up about it, immediately took a step back. “Oh, Smith – didn’t see you there! Sorry about that. Hump day, huh?”

Jerry clutched his mug to his chest and stared at Nichols, only just managing to croak out a: “Yep!” Could he slip away while Nichols–

“Hey, who took the last…?” Nichols turned around, empty jug in hand, and his gaunt face was pulled into a disapproving frown. “Didn’t you see the sign?”

Jerry felt just about ready to expire right there and then on the cream carpet. “Ha! Haha! I guess I didn’t see it! I’ll just…” He reached for the jug, but Nichols yanked it away.

“No, you were gonna walk out of here knowing full well that you were leaving the next person high and dry.” Nichols wore a pair of frameless glasses that made him look severe even when he was in a cheery mood. He was not in a cheery mood. “See, that’s what pisses me off about guys like you, Smith. You do something shitty and when you get caught you don’t even have the stones to stand up for yourself. If you’re gonna be an asshole, be an asshole. Don’t do… all of this.” He gestured at Jerry with the jug, and scoffed. “Shit like this is why you lost the Anderson account.”

These were all extremely valid points, but bringing up the Anderson account stung. That had been Jerry’s last real assignment and he’d blown it. Now he was just a glorified data entry clerk who provided no real service. “That’s fair,” he said, getting a little choked up.

“Ugh.” Nichols turned away in disgust to refill the coffee maker. He offered no further criticism and with the conversation apparently over, Jerry sidled back to his desk, his face hot and his heart racing.

The next few hours were uneventful as always. Jerry pretended to look at some Excel sheets, looked at his (empty) inbox, fired off a few half-hearted emails to potential clients, and then settled in for some procrastination. Was it even procrastination if there wasn’t something specific you were putting off?

However, as Jerry stared at his computer screen in his cubicle (trying to lift his mood by searching for videos of baby sloths reaching out their teensy little arms to embrace their handlers) he was startled by an email notification. He didn’t usually get work emails these days, and this one was marked URGENT, which was especially rare. Excited, he opened the email.
    
    
     **From:**     j.marklovitz@haasmilan.com
    **Subject:**  URGENT
    **To:**       j.smith@haasmilan.com
    **CC:**       f.campbell@haasmilan.com, t.hudson@haasmilan.com,
              w.nichols@haasmilan.com, o.perez@haasmilan.com
    
    Smith,
    
    Could you come to my office.
    
    Best
    

Leave it to Marklovitz to not even end a question with a question mark. Or to write out _all the best_. Or to even sign the damn email. Jerry flushed, but found he couldn’t even feel too indignant about being addressed like this – after all, there was a mildly threatening feeling to this particular email, and worry eclipsed disgruntlement. Why was he being called in? And why were all those others CC’d in? Marklovitz hadn’t seen his little run-in with Nichols in the breakroom, right? Maybe Nichols had gone to HR to disclaim the fact that he was a giant bully who should be summarily disciplined.

Maybe.

Steeling his nerves (or at least bronzing them), he got up, straightened his tie, checked his jacket for coffee stains, and headed to the CEO’s lush corner office.

Marklovitz had done well for himself. As Jerry stepped inside, he was again taken in by the fancy rug, the artsy posters of the agency’s most successful ad campaigns (so glossy and confident), the various trophies and awards, the wooden cabinet of which the primary purpose seemed to be holding Marklovitz’s extensive collection of hard liquor, and of course the CEO’s massive mahogany desk. It was all designed to give off an air of opulence, of dominance, of strength. And Jerry, always dutiful, was suitably awed.

Marklovitz himself was sitting behind the desk, but got up the moment Jerry walked in. That was uncommon, as he preferred to take care of business while leaning back in his chair. “Smith. Thank you for coming.”

“No problem,” said Jerry, swallowing _I wasn’t busy anyway_ just in time. He offered Marklovitz a sheepish smile instead. “Uh – what does this concern?”

Marklovitz leaned against his desk and folded his arms. “Consider it an impromptu performance review.”

Jerry blanched. “Did I do something wrong?”

Marklovitz waved dismissively (not a very heartening response). “You’re fine. In fact, I wanted to discuss potential career growth options with you.” He politely waited for Jerry to pick his jaw up off of the floor and then continued: “I’ve been getting some great reports about you, Smith. You’re a team player. Cooperation-oriented. Got an eye for corporate values. We’re looking to empower people like yourself.”

This was even more flabbergasting. Jerry stammered: “What? Oh! Thank you!” He straightened up a bit, the compliments all the more welcome after the lousy dressing-down he’d gotten from Nichols. (Wait, Nichols – why had he been CC’d for this?)

Marklovitz benevolently inclined his head. “Just calling them like I see them, Smith. I’ve noticed – and heard, from your coworkers – just how much effort you expend to make their jobs easier. Their days better. Haas & Milan is a family, and we appreciate people who really want to participate in that.” His sharply-cut suit, intimidating widow’s peak, and the hint of steely gray next to his temples hinted at more of a Gordon Gekko type vibe than a mom and pop store one. 

“Absolutely.” Jerry was lapping it up all the same.

“It’s a stressful field we’ve chosen for ourselves,” Marklovitz continued. “Advertising is a bloodsport. The reason we’ve stayed in the game this long and made it this far is that we work together. That we take care of each other. Everyone’s got a part to play. For example, your latest campaign...” He snapped his fingers. “It escapes me. Remind me?”

Jerry felt a blush creep up his neck. His latest campaign? His _last_ campaign had been ages ago. Surely Marklovitz knew that. He felt like he was in a rollercoaster, like a trap door had opened beneath him, his stomach seemingly floating in empty space inside him.

“Oh, wait.” Marklovitz grabbed a piece of paper off of his desk and peered at it. “Oh. Oh, this is embarrassing. Looks like the one we’re… I do apologize.” He offered Jerry a sympathetic frown. “Looks like I’m looking for _Jacob Small_.”

In Jerry’s humble and utterly justified opinion, Jake Small was a well-coiffed piece of shiny-smiled shit and the humiliation he felt was all the worse because of it. “That’s alright,” he said hollowly, resolving to weep in the den over a light beer or three that evening after dinner.

“No, it’s not,” Marklovitz said decisively. “I know you’ve been working hard too, Smith. Just perhaps slightly less – visibly. Do you understand?”

“This isn’t necessary.” At this point all these compliments felt like charity. Jerry lowered his eyes, but was surprised by Marklovitz stalking towards him and putting a firm hand on his shoulder.

“This career is a tough one. The one thing that helps you keep your head above water is confidence.” A squeeze, just a bit too hard. “Maybe that’s it, Smith. Maybe you’ve just lost your mojo. But that’s what I’m here for. You know. As your CEO.”

That didn’t really _sound_ like the kind of job a CEO was supposed to do, but Jerry was always a sucker for positive reinforcement and looked up with a bit of a smile. “Thanks, sir.”

There was a knock at the door. Jerry turned around, and to his mortification saw Nichols (followed by Campbell, Hudson, and Perez) enter. “Mr Marklovitz,” Nichols said by way of greeting, some murmurs and waves from the others.

Marklovitz sucked in a breath through his teeth and seemed to be considering something. “I called you in for Small’s performance review – but really, this’ll work just as well. I’m sure you’ve got some feedback for Smith here. You’re all in the same department, after all.”

Jerry glanced at Nichols, but his thin face betrayed nothing. Campbell, one of the company’s account managers – a stout, mellow kind of guy who seemed to get along with everyone) spoke first: “Well, we haven’t collaborated on anything in awhile, but he’s a team player.”

Hudson nodded, falling in line with whatever Campbell thought as he usually did. Hudson was a jokester, the kind of guy you tried to avoid on April Fool’s, loud and extremely present even during presentations he wasn’t involved in. “Smith’s supportive. The kind of guy you can count on, y’know?”

An awkward silence fell, until Nichols finally said: “And committed. Really makes sure he finishes what he starts. To the last drop.”

Jerry grinned, but it was more the kind of grin you might see on a terrified chimpanzee than any sign of real amusement. Even the kind words the others had offered were tainted by Nichols’ little jab. Besides – they were all being so nice now, but in the hallways they either ignored him or made barbed references to his current lack of status within the company (and, sometimes, outside of it). “High praise! Not sure I deserve it.”

“I thought as much,” Marklovitz sighed. “I want to convince you that you really do deserve all this and more, but I suppose actions speak louder than words.”

“Well, I’ve got some constructive criticism too,” Perez suddenly piped up. Perez, with his slicked back hair, his expensive suits, and his shitty stories on Mondays about his oh-so-bawdy weekend exploits – Perez who was one assertive secretary away from a sexual harassment lawsuit had the gall to shoot Jerry a frustrated look. “After you botched the Anderson account we really had our work cut out for us. We’ve all been running interference just to fix that gaffe of yours. No hard feelings, but it’s stressful.”

“Yeah, I guess that’s true,” said Campbell, and Hudson nodded again.

Nichols glanced at Perez, and something unspoken passed between them before he decided: “You didn’t create that mess for us on purpose, we know. Plus – if we just asked, you’d be happy to help out, right?”

Jerry was all too eager to jump on this offer. “Of course! Anything! I, uh, appreciate the effort you’re expending just to clean up after me.”

“We’ve got the project covered, but I’m feeling my concentration slipping,” Nichols said. “All work and no play – you know how it goes.”

“Plus we’ve been working late. When I come home, let me tell you – the missus is in _no_ mood for some stress relief.” Campbell shrugged with a boyish little grin.

“I’ll say,” huffed Hudson. “Barely ever see her anymore.”

“Yeah, I guess I’m feeling a little pent-up,” added Perez. “On edge.”

This was all news to Jerry, but he was horrified to hear that his little fuck-up with the Anderson account had caused his coworkers all these problems. They hadn’t let anything of the sort on. Or had they? Maybe their ribbing and joking was just them being annoyed with him for making their lives harder. “I didn’t… I’m sorry.”

The other men now turned to look at Marklovitz, who looked deep in thought. “These concerns of yours. They’re worrisome. This project is supposed to be the crown on this financial quarter. I can’t afford you messing it up because you’re stressed.”

“It’s nothing big, boss,” Perez shrugged. “Just gotta release some of that energy. But I guess it’s not happening at home, so...”

Another silence fell. It was Nichols who in an insidious voice broke it: “Of course… you did want to help out, right, Smith?”

Too slow to grasp the destination this runaway train was hurtling towards, Jerry nodded. “Absolutely! If you need me to pick up some overtime I can–”

“No, that won’t work.” Perez frowned. “We took you off of this project for a reason. No point pushing you back onto it. Who knows what’d happen.”

“I suppose,” Campbell said, “you could just… help us out by helping us unwind. That’d do the trick.”

“We can take care of business right now,” Hudson agreed, and it was only when Jerry noticed him rubbing his crotch through his slacks that he realized just what this performance review was really about.

He felt light-headed. He wasn’t going to pretend he didn’t end up on seedier websites every now and then (websites with topics not entirely unlike the one he found himself subjected to), but this was not a scenario he’d ever envisioned for himself. He looked at the men gathered around him in a semicircle and wondered just when they’d planned this. Whether it was a spontaneous decision after all. Whether that would be worse.

“Take off your jacket, Smith,” said Marklovitz. The others shrugged off their jackets as well (Nichols placed his over the back of a chair; Perez simply dropped his on the floor; Campbell handed his to Hudson, who carefully folded it and placed it on Marklovitz’s desk together with his own). Jerry too complied, but only after a moment of mortified disbelief. Was this really happening? He glanced at the door. What if someone else came in? Marklovitz followed his eyes and said: “Not to worry. I’ve blocked the next hour in my agenda.”

That wasn’t much of a relief, but Jerry had no time to mull it over any further as Campbell grabbed the decorative pillow off of the sofa and almost ceremoniously placed it in front of Jerry. “There you go,” he said, as if this had been requested or even thought of by Jerry. Still, it didn’t feel like he had any choice but to kneel down on it. He did.

Nichols stepped forward first. Businesslike as always, he undid his fly without as much as a twitch of his eyebrow. He pulled his cock out (like himself, it looked a little on the thin side but decidedly intimidating) and gave it a pump, before seemingly changing his mind and motioning at Jerry. “C’mon. I’ve had a tough week. Could really use some of that support and commitment.”

Jerry was so close to abandoning the whole situation. They surely wouldn’t force him to stay if he stood up and left. But then there was a hand on the back of his head, petting his hair, followed by Perez’s voice (deeper now): “Don’t be shy, Smith. You’re a good guy. We all really appreciate you doing us this favor.”

While the pleasure centers of Jerry’s brain lit up with the rare treat of hearing himself be praised, he was distracted just long enough to take hold of Nichols’s proffered cock. It felt so familiar. Warm and soft. It just wasn’t his own. Still, he knew what to do, even if the angle was something he was unaccustomed to. He looked up at Nichols through his eyelashes, slightly worried about what he’d see, but his colleague had a hint of a smile on his face – something that Jerry might have imagined until it was all but confirmed with a condescending: “That’s it,” from Nichols himself.

Now that the die had been cast, the others too unzipped their slacks and approached Jerry. Perez lingered behind a little, but both Campbell and Hudson offered their cocks (Hudson’s already at full mast). Unfortunately Jerry only had one hand available, and shot Hudson an apologetic look as he began to work Campbell’s dick.

“In this business you’ve got to think outside the box,” said Hudson, and then (shockingly!) prodded Jerry’s burning cheek with the tip of his cock. “C’mon. Get creative.”

Jerry reluctantly opened his mouth, which Hudson took as an invitation to jam himself inside immediately, Jerry’s gagging and sputtering notwithstanding. The taste of it was slightly bitter with day-old sweat, but at least Hudson finally backed off a little after Jerry almost choked. Jerry looked over at Marklovitz to see if his usually so straight-laced boss was at least keeping up the appearance of professional distance, but although his facial expression was still the one of cold detachment he’d gotten so used to over the years, the CEO of Haas & Milan was leisurely jacking himself off.

It wasn’t an image he could really give a mental place right there and then as he was kept busy with the three men he was servicing. Looking back at Campbell, he was mortified to see that the usually so mild-mannered account manager had taken out his phone and was pointing it down at Jerry. He could only hope he was only taking pictures. What if he was filming this? What was he planning to do with the footage? Oh god, was he ruining his life? These panicky thoughts were cut short when Nichols had the audacity to bend over and slap his cheek because Jerry’s hand had faltered. “Stay with it. Focus. For once, just keep your head in the game.”

Jerry’s cheek burned. Only part of that was embarrassment.

Campbell was more patient, simply rocking back and forth of the balls of his feet into Jerry’s sweaty hand. “Little tighter,” he groaned, followed by a sleazy grin when Jerry complied. “This is great.”

“I’ll say,” said Hudson, who again was trying to wheedle Jerry into opening his mouth. “Don’t be like that, Smith. I just got a little eager. I’ll be careful, I promise.” Jerry looked up at him, the toothy smile on his colleague’s face both terrifying and, somehow, rewarding. He licked his lips and then opened up, relaxing his jaw. Hudson was true to his word and went slower this time, easing himself into Jerry’s mouth, but even with all the care he was taking his cock was still a girthy one and Jerry had to take great pains not to accidentally use his teeth on the sensitive skin. Already his jaw was throbbing, until he was distracted from that particular discomfort by another cock poking his cheek, Perez now asking for a little attention.

“You look great like this, baby,” he murmured, again stroking Jerry’s hair, although the gesture felt a lot less sweet with his dick (precum already beading at the tip) pressed up against Jerry’s heated skin. “How about a little sugar for me too?” Although his voice was practically dripping with smarm, Jerry found himself strangely eager to comply. He turned away from Hudson, his hands still working Campbell and Nichols, and took Perez’s dick inside his mouth. After Hudson’s, this one was a lot more manageable and he sighed with relief, prompting a chuckle from Hudson. He didn’t give Perez any time to get upset though, trying to get as much of him down, drool beginning to drip down his chin.

“We can cum on his face, right?” asked Hudson of no one in particular. No one responded that Jerry could tell, but some nonverbal communication had to have taken place as only a few seconds later Hudson’s load splattered against his cheek. The sheer shocking shame of it was enough to have him gasping around Perez, but Perez was no longer in the mood to be sweet and soothing. “ _Fuck,_ just a bit more,” he groaned, grabbing Jerry’s hair.

Marklovitz, who’d remained a silent witness, now spoke up: “No. That’s for me.” This was followed by Perez sullenly releasing Jerry and taking a step back, making room for his boss, tugging at his dick which was shiny-slick with Jerry’s spit.

“A real team player,” Marklovitz said, without even a hint of jocularity. Jerry had never really had occasion to develop a personal preference for certain kinds of dicks (he liked his own well enough, thought the ones in porn always looked a little flashy and unwieldy, and generally regarded Beth’s purple strapon with a mixture of excitement and apprehension) but in the last few minutes he’d gotten up close and personal with a whole menagerie of cocks which he couldn’t help but compare to one another. And Marklovitz’s was handsome, for lack of a better term. Curving upwards just a bit, jutting from a patch of dark, steely gray hair, the head dark and glistening. He was snapped out of his trance by Marklovitz putting an entirely too professional hand on his shoulder. “Something the matter?” his boss asked.

“It just looks nice,” he said quietly, prompting an obnoxiously loud laugh from Hudson. Whether it was his boss’s friendly touch or Hudson’s mocking laughter that had him straining in his slacks – well, maybe a little bit of both.

“Thank you,” said Marklovitz all the same, and even the way he rested the tip of his cock on Jerry’s lower lip was more polite than anything the other men had treated him to.

Consequently, Jerry was all too happy to show his boss just how much of a team player he could be. It was unfortunate that he couldn’t use his hands – busy as he was to make sure Nichols and Campbell wouldn’t start complaining – and it was difficult to focus entirely on the task at hand with Perez lurking in his peripheral vision, jerking off in a way that betrayed just how miffed he was. And then the feeling of Hudson’s cum sliding down his cheek, drying a little. Even with all these complications he sat up a little straighter, looked up at his boss with what he hoped was confidence in his eyes, and took the head of his cock in his mouth. There was a cleanness to it, something that almost brought to mind aftershave (or perhaps just a really fancy kind of soap – something with rosemary and eucalyptus). And unlike Hudson and Perez, he seemed in no hurry to force Jerry down.

A grunt was the only warning he got before Campbell too shot his load, narrowly missing Jerry’s left eye. “Yeah, take it,” Campbell added superfluously. At least it freed up Jerry’s hand, and he reached out to stroke the base of Marklovitz’s dick, trying to work with a rhythm where his lips followed the O that his ring finger and thumb formed, but working Nichols at the same time felt like trying to rub your stomach and pat your head simultaneously. His own cock throbbed persistently, but he knew instinctively that reaching down to take care of himself wouldn’t be met with appreciation. That, in a way, was perhaps part of the attraction.

Perez came closer now, still somewhat sulky. “Hey, spread the love,” he said, now properly invading Jerry’s personal space. “That hand can go to better use.”

Marklovitz cast a chilly look in Perez’s direction. “This kind of posturing is unnecessary. Follow the protocol.” As if there was a section in the employee code of conduct detailing proper conduct during business bukkake assemblies.

Perez relented anyway and seemed resigned to tug himself to completion. “Look at me,” he commanded Jerry, who did so the best he could with his mouth around his boss and his right hand around Nichols. Perez, despite all the buttery praise he’d heaped on Jerry at the start, looked darkly determined, scowling back at Jerry. It was something that should’ve chilled him and absolutely would have had this been a meeting or brainstorming session, but now it only served to send a thrill down his spine, and he found himself parting his knees. The fabric now stretched taut across his crotch, and the resistance it put up against his desperate cock was ineffably inadequate. Jerry knew it’d be useless but couldn’t _not_ try rolling his hips. It only served to frustrate him further. And then Perez, leering now. “Oh, you like that? Maybe we should get together like this more often, huh? Run a train on you every Wednesday afternoon?”

Jerry whimpered at the thought, but his pupils were blown and he definitely wasn’t getting any softer.

“You’d love that,” Perez rambled on, apparently trying to talk himself off. “We’d invite all the guys. Any clients who’d be game, too. And they’d all be game. Maybe put a blindfold on you, or one of those, _fuck_ – one of those spider gags. Fill you up until your stomach’s bulging–”

“It already is,” Nichols remarked dryly, prompting a look of betrayal from Jerry. “Am I wrong? You could stand to lose a few. If you want to live to see your grandchildren, that is.”

“Don’t listen to him, baby,” Perez cooed, now playing the good cop to Nichols’s bad one. “You’re all soft and luscious. I know how to treat someone like that. Lay you down on a bed real nice, rip open that shirt, fuck–”

That was enough. Perez came, aiming for Jerry’s chest. “Like a nice pair of tits,” he hissed, and then immediately tucked himself back into his pants, folded his arms, and stepped back.

Jerry looked back at Nichols, whose face was growing red and his forehead sweaty even if he seemed mostly unaffected otherwise. “I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings by suggesting you could take better care of yourself,” he said, a non-apology like all the other apologies he’d ever thrown at Jerry’s feet. “I just think letting yourself go like that is a selfish thing to do. But then that’s you, right? Selfish?”

After all the compliments he’d received earlier this smarted all the more. Desperate to get more of those kind little nothings, Jerry tried to prove just how selfless he could be, turning towards Nichols and trying to get as much of him down his throat as possible. This was more of a challenge than he’d anticipated and he teared up, looking up at Nichols through bleary eyes, obscene gagging noises grossly out of place in Marklovitz’s pristine office. Still he tried, and when he heard Nichols’s breath catch in his throat he knew he’d at least won _that_. He pulled back, blinked up at Nichols, and (a little hoarsely) managed: “I’m trying to be giving.”

“You just focus on giving blowjobs, Smith,” Nichols jeered. “That’s plenty of giving for you.”

This reduction of Jerry’s worth as not only a professional but, apparently, a human being should really have ruined the mood. But the implied praise – that he was good for a blowjob, perhaps even good _at_ it kept him going, especially when Nichols grabbed him by the hair and forced him to get back to work.

Now he didn’t even have to focus on bobbing his head; Nichols manipulated his head expertly, using his mouth like a Fleshlight. A Fleshlight he was apparently taking pleasure in deriding: “I’m beginning to see why they wanted to keep you on. You know I voted to have you laid off when you fucked up the Anderson account? If I’d known back then that you could use your mouth for more than just sticking your foot into...”

Jerry moaned in a way that he hoped communicated gratitude, repentance, and other self-effacing feelings. Whether he succeeded at that was unclear, but it was enough to have Nichols tug on his hair more forcefully – cum suddenly flooding his mouth, even though Nichols immediately pulled Jerry off of him and finished on his face. Jerry looked up, hoping for some sort of acknowledgement. Nichols wasn’t even looking at him anymore.

With his colleagues done (although, curiously, the others were still intently watching him), Jerry could finally focus his efforts entirely on the man who actually decided over Jerry’s fate at the company, with his mouth-wateringly perfect dick hanging over Jerry like the sword of Damocles. Marklovitz was still every bit as composed and confident as he’d been before this performance review had gone south, every bit as indifferent as he was when people tried to suck up to him during meetings as he was now that Jerry was about to continue sucking him off.

Jerry scooted towards him, one hand on Marklovitz’s thigh – the fabric of his expensive suit luxurious and silky-smooth to his touch, like water made into textile – and the other again taking hold of his boss’s cock, warm and heavy in a way that inspired all sorts of ideas in Jerry that were so abstract and unimaginable that he couldn’t even put words to them. He lapped at the underside, trying to make this particular blowjob look even more humble, more reverential.

Somebody sucked in a breath. Someone else mumbled something petulant. But they were no longer on Jerry’s radar. He had two priorities – impressing Marklovitz, and keeping himself from humping his toned calf, which was getting more and more difficult. To keep himself focused he pulled out every brown-nosing trick he could think of – cradling Marklovitz’s sack, varying the pressure, properly sucking him down, anything to incite some kind of positive feedback.

None came. Luckily Jerry was more than experienced when it came to feeling unappreciated, a veteran of thankless work, and he bravely soldiered on. While Marklovitz might give off the impression of being an especially lifelike android, his dick was still responding to Jerry’s overeager attention. “That’s enough,” he said suddenly, and Jerry didn’t even get the opportunity to sit back as his boss stood back, gave himself a few perfunctory tugs, and then proceeded to blow his load on Jerry’s face as well, cum now dripping down his nose, his cheeks, his lips.

As they left the office, Marklovitz – not unkindly – handed Jerry a box of baby wipes. Jerry didn’t ask why those were here as the implications of and possible answers to that question were more likely than not to hurt his feelings or worse. He took the box, and began the futile task of restoring himself to the state he’d been in before he’d entered the CEO’s office. Cleaning his face was easy enough, but his shirt was stained as well and of course he still had a hot, throbbing bulge in his own pants, which the other men seemed to not consider their responsibility.

And that wasn’t fair, was it? Marklovitz had taken his seat again and was typing away at his laptop, evidently expecting Jerry to clear out in his own time. But why would he be asked to take care of all of them only to be ignored in his own time of need? The least they could do was watch while he got off, right? That wouldn’t even take any effort on their part. It wouldn’t even be as embarrassing as the last few minutes had been for him.

Jerry found himself clutching the box to his chest in what seemed like a girlishly insecure pose and hastily put it on the desk. “Mr Marklovitz,” he said, his throat as tight as the crotch of his slacks.

“Hm?” Marklovitz didn’t even look up.

Jerry looked down, hoping he wouldn’t have to put actual words to his situation and what he needed (or wanted). “It’s just – I was hoping for some… you know.”

Now Marklovitz deigned to catch his eye, and he quirked an eyebrow. “What?” Realization dawned, and he gave Jerry an apologetic smile. “Oh, of course. How could I forget?”

He stood up, approached Jerry in what felt like slow-motion, and reached out – Jerry already anticipating that warm hand with the neatly manicured fingernails cupping him through his pants, subconsciously leaning forward a bit, only to be caught off-guard entirely when Marklovitz firmly grasped his hand instead.

“Happy to have you on board as our newest advertising producer, Smith,” he said, followed by a firm handshake. “I’ll ask Irene to draw up the paperwork first thing tomorrow. Maybe we can sit around the table in the afternoon, hash out some of the finer details.” But in his voice it was clear there was no _maybe_ about this meeting. The only _maybe_ was whether any actual work would get done.

With another pat on the back he gently ushered Jerry out of his office. And Jerry found himself speechless all the way back to his desk, to his car, on the way home, and only when he crossed his own doorstep did he regain his voice.

“Honey, guess who got promoted?”


End file.
